


A Long Fall From Grace

by goldendayer



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst and Drama, Drug Use, Ed & bad coping mechanisms: the novel, Multi, One-Sided Attraction, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:26:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22237840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldendayer/pseuds/goldendayer
Summary: After all this time fighting to come home, Ed is now doing everything he can to stay away. Trying and failing to come up with a way to live with himself, he's doing things he never imagined he'd do— Accepting a position at the academy in the town over, developing a taste for morphine, having illicit relations with a student...But that isn't even the worst of it.
Relationships: Alphonse Elric/Edward Elric, Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	A Long Fall From Grace

Ha. The voice inside his head laughed. Ed smiled a defeated smile. Yeah. If only people really knew, huh? Ha! This time the laugh escaped his lips in a quiet breath. This was all sort of funny, honestly, in a dark way. In a horrible way. 

Above the fireplace sat a framed newspaper clipping— printed the morning after the Promised Day and saved by aunty Pinako, Ed stared at it from his seat on the couch. His eyes met his own face, grinning back at him from the top of the page. The heading above it read, in bold black print:

STATE ALCHEMIST, EDWARD ELRIC, 17, PREDICTS DESTRUCTION OF AMESTRIS

These days, looking at it made him nauseous. But It would be a lie to say that he didn’t bask in the limelight a little back then. 

He'd always been in the public eye somewhat, but after the Promised Day his fame had risen to a new level. In the weeks following, he'd granted dozens of interviews, signed hundreds of autographs for eager children and blushing girls, and enjoyed the shipments of baked goods and flowers that arrived in massive piles on the front porch. Resembool county had to bring in a mail truck from a neighboring town just for the Rockbell household. Eventually, he, Al, Winry, or whoever was home started urging the mailmen to take most of the edible deliveries home themselves. And with the Rockbell’s automail business as busy as ever, Winry would often sit at the kitchen table and playfully feign irritation as she sifted through the piles of letters trying to find the ones from customers.

Winry. Yeah, up until recently, he had always figured that sooner or later he’d work up the guts to tell her how he felt about her. But now, he didn’t think that was ever going to happen.

It wasn't that he didn't like her anymore. Far from it, in fact he felt she was growing more beautiful and charming by the day. But he couldn't say the same for himself. Confessing to her would be like offering her with a drink laced with poison, he thought. He never wanted to have to hide things from someone he'd spend his life with, especially when that someone was so good at seeing through him. She didn't deserve someone so depraved. 

It had been many years since Ed had first come to terms with the fact that he was somewhat abnormal in this area. A year or two after becoming a state alchemist, he began to realize that he was looking a bit too long at some of the more attractive young military women and, to his distress, men. But back then, he had more important things to think about. That's what he always told himself whenever his mind started running in circles, trying to make sense of things. Stop thinking about it, focus on the task at hand. Or at the very least, focus on one side of the issue. Yeah, he would tell himself. Men like girls. I like girls. For all intents and purposes, I'm normal. No one has to know. No one knows. And he tried to put it out of his mind.

And he was mostly successful. Fortunately, at that time he had enough to keep him busy. More than enough, really. But now, at the time of his second realization, he had no such luxury to occupy his mind. Instead, it rebelled, replaying the images he didn't want to be seeing, the thoughts he didn't want to be thinking, over and over again in a tortuous loop. His old secret bubbled back up to the surface, along with a new, even more horrifying one.

Thwack. Ed hit himself on the side of the head with his palm. Idiot. Freak. What a fucking freak. He glanced up at the clock— almost 5 PM. The daylight that flooded the Rockbell's living room was starting to dim. Ed reached over to turn on the lamp which sat on the side table, and the click coincided perfectly with the clack of the back door opening. It swung shut with a loud thunk. Ed rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"Still have a headache?" Called Al from the kitchen. Ed could hear him taking off his boots at the door. He didn't turn around.

"Yeah."

"Have you been sitting there this whole time, brother? You really should have lay down upstairs for a while. Getting proper rest is important when you’re coming down with something." Al chastised him, turning on the kitchen sink to wash his hands before walking into the living room and scanning the surrounding area.

"Did you not even get yourself a glass of water? Brother, seriously. Hydration."

"I drank a cup when I came in earlier." Ed lied.

The truth was, he wasn’t really feeling ill. That's just what he told Al after some unusually clumsy behavior on his part.

Earlier that day, a few of the neighbor kids had spotted Al while he was on his way to check up on Ed (who was at work trying to uproot the stump of a large tree behind the house that had been damaged in a storm several months earlier), and eagerly asked him if he could show them how to “fight good.”

Al, who was a great deal more patient with children than his brother, stopped to talk with them. “I don’t know what sort of things you guys have heard, but I never fight anyone unless I really need to defend myself or someone else,” he said carefully, leaning on the shovel he was carrying.

“What about Ed?” the oldest of the group demanded to know.

“Yes, him too.” Al replied, adding a  _ “mostly” _ to the end of the sentence in his head. “But,” He conceded, “I suppose it’s good for everybody to know a little self-defense.”

The group nodded vigorously, ready to agree to any terms that would lead to a sparring demonstration. 

“All right then,” Al said, motioning for them to follow, “Let’s go see if Ed is up for helping me out with the lesson.” 

When Ed looked up and saw his brother walking towards him with a gaggle of children in tow, he laid down the hatchet he was using to cut through the roots of the tree stump and stood up to stretch his back. Damn, it was like those little bastards had a sixth sense for knowing when he and Al were outside trying to get work done.

“Brother! Making any progress?” Al called, giving a quick wave as he approached. His hair was windswept, and as he got closer, Ed could see that the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, leaving the collar to flutter gently around his neck. Ed never failed to be stunned, in moments like these, by how beautiful he was. There had been times where he hadn’t been sure if he’d ever see him like this again. 

But Ed shook himself out of it and answered the question. “Sort of, but these roots are crazy hard to get through.” 

Al nodded. “Well, I was actually coming to give you a hand when these guys swarmed me.” he sighed with a smile, gesturing behind him with his thumb. “What would you say about taking a break to help me give a quick self defense lesson?”

Ed glanced at the children, who were staring at him eagerly. “All right, just for a little while though.” He said, reaching up to adjust his ponytail.

With that, Al launched into a spiel informing the kids that what they were about to learn would only be defensive moves, and that the Most Cool people are the ones who know how to solve disputes without using physical means, and that stuff like this was only to be used in situations where one is in Immediate Danger. After a couple minutes Ed could see the kids’ eyes glazing over. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed interrupted with a mischievous grin, “I think they understand.” 

Al turned around with mild irritation at first, but quickly broke into a smirk. “Okay then,” He said, suddenly running at him, “Ed here is going to show you the first move!”

Immediately, his old instincts kicked in and within a fraction of a second his forearm was raised to protect his face— just in time to block Al’s incoming punch. Ed laughed breathily, he hadn’t been expecting that. But instead of pulling back, Al kept his fist outstretched, only turning his head to address their audience.

“Take a look at his arm, see how he used it to block my punch?” Al said before quietly instructing Ed to stay in the position he was in.

“If somebody is coming at you from chest-height or above then this is a good move to use.” He said, patting Ed’s forearm.

As Al ran through several more moves (which Ed blocked expertly on reflex) and their explanations in the same way, Ed couldn’t help but begin to zone out a little. Al was saying something about using your elbows, but he wasn’t really listening. It was like listening to someone explain how to breathe.

“...Right Ed?”

Al was looking at him, waiting for an answer. Shit.

“Uh, yes.” He replied, hoping Al couldn’t tell he had no clue what he was confirming. 

Al quirked an eyebrow at him, but resumed his lesson. Ed stared at his back absentmindedly. He wasn’t that scrawny kid spat out by the gate anymore.

Back when they first arrived home, Al had been so frail and thin that even simple tasks often required him to exert himself to the point of exhaustion. He may have been 16, but at that time he still looked and sounded young for his age. However, after a only few weeks of being properly fed, Al had begun to transform. Everyone was shocked to observe how quickly his body made up for lost time, as he seemingly hit multiple growth spurts all at once. Within a matter of months, before Ed could blink, Al stood a solid inch above him, now speaking with a deeper, but still slightly effeminate voice and possessing nearly all the physical hallmarks of a young adult. 

But although Al was taller, Ed was still bigger. Or stockier, he supposed. He looked solidly built, people might say. Al, on the other hand, while still a healthy weight, was naturally much more lean. And unlike his older brother, who was marked by countless scars, he was unmarred, as if he had only just stepped into the world. Which in a way, he had. And after months of plenty of sunlight, his skin had a warm, healthy glow. Ed wondered how it would feel to reach out and touch his bare chest after an intense sparring match and feel the up and down of his breathing with the palms of hi—

There was a foot hurtling towards his face. 

Without enough time to block the blow, Ed opted to dodge it instead, leaning backwards as far as he could. Too far, as it turned out. His feet slipped out from under him, and he quickly entered a backwards somersault in order to lessen the impact with the ground. When he stood up again, the children began clapping as if he’d just done a magic trick— but he knew that Al could tell he had only done it because he’d been caught off guard. There was a brief moment where the two just looked at each other, before Al got his bearings and turned to address the crowd.

“That’s an advanced move.” Al covered for him, before walking over to where Ed was standing.

“Are you okay?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m fine. No damage incurred.” Ed joked tiredly, trying to deflect the question.

But Al still looked concerned. “No— I mean that’s good, but you seem a little out of it today, are you feeling all right?”

Maybe he should just say he had a cold or something. 

“I don’t know, I uh, might be coming down with a cold or something. I kind of have a headache.” 

What he said wasn’t completely false. It was true that he had a headache. Only it wasn't from a virus, it was from his own relentlessly racing thoughts. But in any case, Al seemed to have bought it, so Ed had excused himself and wandered back to the house. And then he had sat down on this couch and indulged his aimless sense of dread and disgust for over an hour. 

* * *

After dinner that night, Ed headed straight up to bed, much earlier than usual. Blaming it on dehydration, he accepted the warm mug of tea Winry handed him on his way up the stairs. He wanted to be asleep by the time Al decided to retire for the night, even if it was most likely only going to be pretend sleep, as he usually struggled for hours to drift into unconsciousness. But that night, the universe offered him a blessing and a curse— he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, but his sleep was plagued by unsettling dreams...

He felt the mattress shift underneath him.

Barely able to make him out in the darkness, Ed realized it was Al climbing gently onto the side of his bed. 

_ Brother? _

What was it, Al?

_ I can’t sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking... _

About what?

_ Have you forgotten? _

Forgotten?

Al shifted closer.

_ That strange thing we used to do. _

What are you talking about?

_ Was it wrong? _

Ed opened his mouth but no sound came out.

Al reached out.

His hand began to climb Ed’s bare thigh.

_ Is this wrong…? _

The room began to tilt.

Suddenly, blinding light.

Ed awoke with a start. He sat up, breathing heavily. Looking down, he noticed his hands were clenched in white-knuckled fists. Slowly, he uncurled them and stared at the indents his nails had made in the flesh of his palms. Looking around in the dim light of the early hours of the morning, he was relieved to see that he was alone in bed, and that Al was fast asleep on the other side of the room, unaware of what went on in his dreams. He was damp with cold sweat.

Quietly, he slipped out of bed and crept down the hallway to the bathroom. Turning on the faucet, he stared out the small window at the moon which was only just beginning to fade, and drew himself a bath. He lowered himself in, propping his automail leg up over the side of the tub, and watched as the water slowly engulfed his right leg, then his stomach, then his chest. He closed his eyes.

Had he forgotten? The question from the dream echoed in his head. No, he hadn’t forgotten. But he had tried his best to rationalize it, tuck it up neatly, force it into a tiny little box, and store it away in the far recesses of his mind, pretending it was from a bygone era that had no connection to their life as it was now.

I mean, did Al ever even think about it? The reasons that had been behind it all must seem so far away to him now. He didn’t have to wonder about what things felt like anymore. That was all it was, wasn’t it? Trading of information. 

And it wasn’t like it happened all the time. No, they’d been far too busy, especially in the last months before the promised day. But every now and then, on the rare lazy day, it would happen. Like it was some sort of ritual. 

For Ed, it had eased his guilt. After all, it was because of his stupid mistake that his brother was unable to experience things like taste, smell, touch... What right did he have to feel pleasure unless it was for Al’s sake? And for Al… It had been curiosity about those things, right? Could you call it equivalent exchange?  Al would ask, “What does this feel like?” and Ed would answer. Although, not always with words.

Fuck, who was he kidding. It was never normal. But then again, their situation hadn’t been normal, had it? And now that it was, what was he supposed to make of what they did back then? Was he supposed to forget those touches, those words? 

And if it was all in the past, then why was thinking about it making his body react this way?

Groggy and immersed in warm water, Ed, almost without noticing, began to imagine what it would be like if Al were to do those sorts of things to him now.

Al’s warm fingers were tracing the automail scar on Ed's right shoulder, running along his neck, brushing his hair out from in front of his eyes. Al's hand was against his cheek, it was on his thigh, it was pressed up against his chest. The images were disjointed in his mind, a million actions happening at once, flickering in and out of focus. But Al's gaze was unchanging, those golden-brown eyes of his were fixed on Ed regardless of what was happening— even as he felt his lips against his neck, on his mouth, across his abdomen, trailing down his hip. In his mind it was Al touching him, but in reality it was his own hand doing the work. It was surprisingly easy to trick his mind into believing the illusion, and soon this fantasy was carrying him away. He was burning. He was on fire. He was panting, gasping for air. He—

Knock.

Knock knock.

Ed was yanked back into reality by the sound, which startled him enough to cause some of the bathwater to audibly splash onto the floor.

"Ed? Is that you in there?" Came Al's muffled voice behind the door.

Ed blinked rapidly and pushed the wet hair out of his face, trying to get his bearings. "Y-yeah. I'm, uh— I'm in here."

"Are you.... in the bath or something?" Al asked. "I kind of have to pee. Can I just come in?"

"Uh, no— I mean, just give me one second, I'm about to get out." Ed stuttered, rising abruptly and then nearly slipping on the wet tile as he stepped out. He caught himself on the towel rack and quickly wrapped one around his waist, glancing at himself once in the mirror (he was totally flushed red. People get red in hot baths, right?) He took a breath, swung open the door, and then hurriedly pushed past Al, who stood half asleep but bewildered in his boxers.

Leaving a trail of wet footprints, Ed made his way back to the room with the urgency of a startled animal, closing the door behind him with a CLUNK and rushing to pull a pair of underwear and a robe over his wet limbs before Al came back. He stood staring into space for a brief moment, trying to steady himself. Then he made his way downstairs, not wanting to face his brother.

* * *

  
  


Deciding he could use some fresh air, Ed opened the door to the front porch and was immediately hit with a blast of cold wind. Ah, he remembered. Right. It was October. Even so, the morning air had a biting coldness to it that wouldn't have been out of the ordinary even in deep winter. Ed listened to the wind whistle in his ears and stepped out to take a seat on the old rocking chair anyway.

It was dawn, and the sky was a dirty purple color. Fallen leaves were being blown every which way, and his wet hair slapped the sides of his face with every gust of freezing wind. He crossed his arms over his chest to keep his robe closed, but the bottom half of it billowed against the legs of the chair. His own legs stung from the cold air.

Ed stared blankly towards the horizon, no intention of retreating back into the comfort of the indoors. There had got to be some sort of consequence for jacking off to your own brother. And if a higher power wasn't gonna deal it out, then Ed was just gonna come up with something himself.

He wasn't sure exactly how long he had been outside when he saw a distant figure approaching the house down the gravel path. He squinted.

Ah, the postman.

Oh damn, the postman.

Only now did Ed notice his wet hair had half-frozen, and when he sat up straight, several strands which had frozen when he was slumped over now stuck out at odd, gravity-defying angles. He realized how he must look, sitting like a statue on the front porch this early in the morning, in freezing conditions, hair obviously wet, in nothing but boxers and a robe. But by the time this finally registered to him, it was too late. The postman was close enough that Ed reasoned he'd definitely already seen him in all his glory— scampering inside to hide would be pointless now. So he just sat and waited.

The gravel crunched under the man's feet as he came to stand at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up, gave Ed a quick once-over, paused, and then apparently decided not to ask.

"Mornin' Mr. Edward. Got quite a few letters here for'ya today." He said, holding out a four inch stack of them, tied together with twine. When Ed made no immediate move to stand up, he adjusted his cap and added, "Uh, if you like, I can bring them—"

"Er, sorry." Ed responded quickly, immediately standing up. He went to walk forward, but felt a tug. Looking behind him, he saw that the back of his robe was frozen to the chair.

The postman, once he saw what the problem was, swiftly made his way up the stairs and handed the stack to Ed.

"...I'll be on my way then." He mumbled, not making direct eye contact. With that, he turned on his heel and was gone.

* * *

Once Ed had detached himself from the chair and made it back inside, he took a moment to warm his fingers under hot water. It was hot enough to create steam, and he leaned with his hands on the counter in front of the kitchen sink, enjoying the warmth. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

He turned around and was face to face with Al, who was looking at him with his eyes narrowed in genuine confusion. "Why is your hair frozen in the back?" He asked, lifting a frozen strand and then letting it fall.

Ed didn't really know how to answer. "It's cold outside."

Al looked out the window at the wind billowing through the trees, and then back at his brother. "All right, but why were you outside?"

"Mail." Ed replied, gesturing vaguely at the stack of letters he left on the table and avoiding any eye contact.

Al paused. The fact that the amount of time it took to duck outside and grab the mail wasn't long enough to freeze hair wasn't lost on him. He flattened his lips into a straight line and thought about saying this, but didn't. There was something going on, and as always, Ed wasn't letting anyone in on what it was.

Ed had seated himself at the table and was staring into space, absentmindedly picking at the string that bound the stack of letters. For someone so clever in other ways, it was always strange to see just how bad he was at playing it cool when something was on his mind.

"You've been having trouble sleeping lately," Al said, opening the cupboard and reaching for a mug, "Right?"

"Yeah. Sorry if I've been waking you up." Ed answered, divulging no further information.

"No, don't worry about that." Al continued as he filled the kettle with water. "Nightmares?"

Ed paused before replying. "Nah. None of those. I'm okay."

Al suspected that was a lie, so he decided to try a different tactic. "I sometimes get them. Nightmares I mean."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uh huh. They're usually pretty abstract though."

"That's just how dreams are sometimes." Said Ed, secretly wishing that his could be a little more abstract.

Just then, a creaking floorboard alerted them to Winry's presence as she padded into the kitchen. Her hair was messy and she was wearing her green robe, which had sleeves that were too long for her arms. Because of this, she always kept them bunched up around her elbows.

"Has the mail come yet?" She asked.

"Yeah, brother's got it over at the table." Al responded, nodding in his direction.

Winry yawned as she pulled a chair out from under the table and sat down across from Ed. She held her palm out. "Mind if I take a look?"

"Ah, sure," said Ed, only just then realizing that he'd been picking at the string. He pushed the stack over to her, and she immediately untied it and began thumbing through the pile.

"Looking for something?" Ed asked.

"We're waiting on a follow-up check from a customer.” She explained, “Multi-installation payments are a pain in the ass to keep track of... this one's yours." She passed one letter in Ed's direction, then several more. "And this one, and this one, and this one..."

Ed barely managed to hold back a grimace as the letters piled up in front of him. From the handwriting, he could tell that a large portion of them were from kids. Something about that made him feel sick– he wasn't the role model they thought he was. But, looking down at them, it wasn’t like he could just trash them. So he gathered them up and headed upstairs.

* * *

Ed had a box full of such letters under his bed. As he was depositing the latest pile into it, something caught his eye. Peeking out from the middle of the stack was a letter stamped with an official looking seal. He carefully removed it and inspected the writing on the front. 

“Barthall Academy of Sciences”

Weird. Wasn’t that the prep school about an hour away? Did they want him to enroll or something? That would be funny, he was almost too old to attend anyway. He contemplated putting it away with the others, but curiosity got the better of him. He opened the letter. 

_ Mr. Edward Elric,  _

_ As the headmaster of Barthall Academy of Sciences, I am writing to inquire if you, being especially qualified in the field of Alchemy, have any interest in lecturing, whether it be a single presentation or a complete class in the subject, here at Barthall Academy of Sciences.  _

_ We are a small but growing school located in the southernmost district of East City which enrolls students from ages fourteen to eighteen. As of late we have been considering expanding our range of classes in order to broaden our curriculum for our near 250 students. Alchemy is a natural choice for this expansion. Due to your extensive technical knowledge and real-world experience with the practical application of alchemic techniques, I feel that you, Mr. Elric, would be perfect to spearhead this program. Of course, it would be a paid position. _

_ If you have any interest in this proposal, feel free to visit the Academy at any time during business hours within the coming month. Upon your arrival, I will meet with you face to face to discuss the details of the position.  _

_ Best wishes,  _

_ Arthur Windel _

**Author's Note:**

> One chapter, done! And it only took six months (lol). I tried really hard to make this as tasteful as something about incestuous feelings can be. It's hard! 
> 
> I have the entire plot outline for this work all written out, and looking at it, I think there'll be probably 3 or 4 chapters in total. Look forward to it! And in the meantime, please let me know what you think!


End file.
